


THE CRIMSON FEATHER

by thoughtsdemise



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Humor, Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: Summary:  The Dark One (possessed Sonic) identifies with a brazen songbird who claims “dominance” over a shared territory.Disclaimer:  I’m only responsible for my own stupidity.  Duality concepts belong to Liz-sama (look her up on deviantart).





	

It floats lightly upon the sky’s eternal traveler,

Marked by a heavy crimson stain.

 

Those who glimpse its wondering path

dare not to stare overly long upon it;

For an unknown death lies in its embrace.

 

So it floats upon a wayward wind,

Staying not in one place too long and

moving ever on the chaotic breeze

whose path cannot be judged.

 

He runs a clawed finger gently through his lover’s red-brown locks that lay about her brow tousled like a concealing veil torn away from a fragrant head and tossed carelessly aside by those trapped in the heat of their passions that overcomes all lovers.  She murmurs something unintelligible when that same finger traces over her cheek yet she does not rouse from a deep sleep guarded possessively by her exhaustion.  He emits a soft disgruntled growl at his advance being ignored yet he allows her to continue in her slumber.  He smirks and begins to purr like a cat who had cornered its prey and would not get the chance to play with it until death would be delivered from a skilled claw as a single thought occurs to him.  Even though he might want to continue their play, the exhaustion that kept her from him was entirely upon by his actions and was, therefore, his fault.  This thought deeply pleased him somewhat more than feeling his lover in his embrace at that moment.

 

He wraps an arm lovingly about her slender form.  He pulls a thick blanket about the both of them, tucking it carefully about them.  His ears lay lazily against the side of his head and a look of great content washes cleanly over his handsome features.  His tail wags slightly even ensnared as it was in the wrappings as his lover shudders in her sleep before settling deeper into his familiar embrace.  He nudges one of her shoulders and sleepily takes in the pre-dawn light that filters into their bedchamber through the gauzy strips of fabric that encase the eastern portals to the realms outside of their love nest.

 

Surrounded by peaceful content and floating towards slumber, he is roused by a strange muffled sound.  He rumbles a warning growl low in his chest as his now alert eyes automatically search the room for a threat.  He searches, however, only a resounding silence meets his ears that have perked forward listening keenly.  After eternal moments come and go, the sound dances again across the air.  He is spurred from the warmth of his bed to the cold stone floor that claws at his feet and legs as he stands and moves out into the bedchamber.  He cocks his head to one side as the twittering sounds again drawing him to the eastern balcony.

 

The glass doors swing open with a small twinkle yet this small symphony of noise is eclipsed by a variety of clicks, whistles, and warbles that are belted out into the cool early Spring air.  He steps fully out onto the balcony as he is assaulted by the sheer volume and joy of the song that teases sharply over his unclothed form.  He shivers in utter delight as the bright reverberation is repeated time and again.  His heart pounds to a reckless beat as he is touched by something he had never felt before and could not name if he was asked.

 

Finally when the symphony had ended and he was releases from its covetous refrains, he looks about the area surrounding him.  A flash of brilliance draws his eyes upward towards the composer and artist.  He smiles despite the tumult of emotions that landslide through his trembling breast.  There atop the archway to his chambers sat a little wren who had stopped in its song long enough to preen pridefully in the morning light that had now risen fully to birth color to the land below.  When it is satisfied with its grooming, it began its vigorous melodic resonance once again, paying no heed to the one who watched with eyes the color of rubies.  It had claimed its territory and wanted the rest of the world to know.

 

He chuckles as the little interloper warbles on in its dazzling harmony.  He  closes those ruby eyes as he allows the light melody to wash over him.  He reaches out towards the city, his city to collect strength from his subjects that worshiped him as the god he was always meant to be.  He stands revitalized and sparkling below the little wren who seems to stand in defiance against the claim he had already made on this land.  Yet he does not strike out against the defiant sprig of light.  Who is to say why but he turns and walks back into his chambers grinning like a man whose life had been renewed as the little interloper continues to sing on in defiance of the master who had already laid claim to this land.

 

Another morning comes and goes with this same scene being repeated.  The challenger would sing its small heart out yet the old master would do nothing to evict the little wren who challenged.  Days pass into weeks and the entire display becomes as a ritual.  The small speck of luminous colors would sing in glorious refrain, and the master would listen in his own silent refrain and awe.  He had even begun to rise almost automatically from his slumber just to observe this ritual.  Yet life moves ever onward despite the attempts of those who must bear its mortal burden to stop its unceasing advance.

 

He had awakened as usual for their morning ritual, but only a calm hush met his ears instead of that familiar melody.  He half wonders if he is still in the throws of his slumber yet there remains only the silence as the dawn begins to recolor the land from the darker shades cast by the night.  He moves purposefully towards the balcony door as the silence begins to pound in his ears.  The scene that greets him this morning was not something he had ever thought to see.

 

The little wren could sing no more, would sing no more in this life.  The patient master watches as the interloper’s killer chews on its meal clearly enjoying its self until it senses something foreboding about its form.  It turns its head towards the entry way and hisses fearfully at what it perceives to be a larger and much more dangerous predator.  A predator that merely watches its actions in a macob fascination.  The killer growls and quickly gathers up the remains of it meal before skittering off to a dark hole to finish its meal.

 

The only thing left behind to attest to the act of violence that had occurred in the throes of night were a few droplets of blood and a single downy feather marking in the crimson blood of its owner.  He moves forward and strikes at the ground angrily with a dark fire that erupts from his savagely clawed hands.  His breath is heavy as an eerie wind tugs at his quills.  He is about to turn away when a flash of crimson catches his eye.  He growls but captures the feather as it floats near him.

 

He closes his eyes with a delightful shudder as the metallic scent hits his senses and purifies him of whatever maze his emotions had tried to cast him into.  His gaze narrows over the city as he turns to rejoin his lover who was beginning to stir from her own slumbers.  He carelessly tosses the crimson coated feather to the wind and slams the doors shut.  The feather drifts on the wind about the balcony for an everlasting moment until it is pulled away upon an endless journey.

 

It floats lightly upon the sky’s eternal traveler,

Marked by a heavy crimson stain.

 

Those who glimpse its wondering path

dare not to stare overly long upon it;

For an unknown death lies in its embrace.

 

So it floats upon a wayward wind,

Staying not in one place too long and

moving ever on the chaotic breeze

whose path cannot be judged.

 

This feather marked in crimson pain

speaks of one more terrible event

that adds just one more mark on a darkened soul.


End file.
